Mr Lathrope remained at the head of the inlet, with Mr McCarthy, in charge of the camp and the remaining hands until the jolly-boat came back to fetch them; and it really seemed, from the many earnest “good-byes” exchanged between those starting off and the ones left behind as if the castaways were parting for ever, the separation seemed to cause such a wrench after they had been so long together!
Thanks to the fine fresh breeze, and the fact of their being almost in the open sea now—for the sides of the bay diverged so greatly after a time that the opposite coasts could not be seen—the boat was under sail instead of being pulled along; and the motion was ever so much more pleasant than when it was oscillated to and fro by the sharp jerky strokes of the rowers.
The weather still continued fine and clear, with the sun shining on the water and a bright blue sky overhead; and as the boat glided along, heeling over to the wind every now and then and tossing the spray from her bows as she came down with a flop on the crest of some little wave which got in her way, Frank wished that he and Kate could glide on so for ever. Everything seemed so delightful around them after the dreary winter they had so recently passed through.
Nature herself was smiling again upon them in the bright summer dawn!
Even the penguins seemed to enjoy the change of season, for they raced after the boat as she pursued her way, moving through the water like a shoal of albacore, and rarely showing more than their heads above the surface for a little while. Then, all of a sudden, as if playing a game of leapfrog amongst themselves, they would spring out of the sea in long lines, one after another, showing their steel-grey backs and silvery sides, so that Kate could hardly believe they were not fishes jumping up in sport, like as she had frequently seen the bonito do when off the African coast in the Atlantic.
The jolly-boat had such a spanking breeze from the north-west all the way with her, right abaft the beam, that she accomplished the distance between the head of the inlet and Betsy Cove before nightfall, Mr Meldrum shaping her course so well by the old chart he had that she fetched the harbour in a bee-line almost from their point of departure, steering east by south.
There was no mistaking the place.
Betsy Cove was a second bay within a larger one, called “Accessible Bay” on the chart and marked by a curious isolated mountain-peak which raised itself on the very extremity of a low spit of land that ran out into the sea, a long way out from the main shore.
On the beach were several old wooden huts and a large iron boiler that had evidently been used for “trying out” seal and whale oil from the blubber; while further up the shore was a small graveyard, a rather melancholy-looking spot with a few wooden crosses and piles scattered about it bearing dreary legends relating to the untimely end of different seamen who had either died there on shore, or had lost their lives at sea in the immediate vicinity. However, the most important point to our little party, was the fact that there were no signs of any vessels having recently visited the place; and, consequently, Mr Meldrum had carried out his original plan to the letter, having evidently arrived there in time before the annual coming of the whalers.
Early the next morning the jolly-boat was sent back to fetch the others, and towards the evening of the day following the whole of the party were once more together.